


a day without rain

by LoversAntiquities



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reminiscing, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21738505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, he thinks, shutting his eyes against the light pouring through the motel window. His eyelid pulls, the gash marring his face stinging with every blink. How the vampire didn’t manage to gouge his eye out of his skull is bit of luck he doesn’t question. He still has his eyesight and his health, and Castiel is alive, granted with a limp and a possibly broken wrist.It could be worse. This could be their funeral.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 101





	a day without rain

Try as he might, Dean can’t entirely shake the somberness of the morning, lingering in the air as low as the fog. Styrofoam cup to his lips, he leans back in one of the corner desk’s chairs and watches Castiel fumble with his shoestrings. The fingers on Castiel’s left hand refuse to move more than absolutely necessary, and Dean winces at the blackened bruise coloring his knuckles, peeking out from beneath his wrist brace.

 _This wasn’t how it was supposed to go_ , he thinks, shutting his eyes against the light pouring through the motel window. His eyelid pulls, the gash marring his face stinging with every blink. How the vampire didn’t manage to gouge his eye out of his skull is bit of luck he doesn’t question. He still has his eyesight and his health, and Castiel is alive, granted with a limp and a possibly broken wrist.

It could be worse. This could be their funeral. But it is a funeral, and Dean sighs, hating the way his eyes sting with the thought. Burials, he knows all too well: the smell of the dew on the grass, the splinters from old shovels, the ache between his shoulders that stubbornly hangs on for days at a time. Funerals, though—the last one he went to was well over a decade ago, and he wasn’t even invited. Sam would kill him if he found out Dean hid behind a tree while they lowered Jessica into the ground.

As much as Dean hates secrets, both his own and others’, he’ll keep this one, for as long as he can.

Castiel lets out a deflating sigh through his nose, frustration furrowing his brow. He pauses briefly, long enough to wipe his eye with the back of his jacket sleeve, before resuming his struggle to lace his loafers, every attempt ending in failure.

“Alright, c’mon,” Dean relents before placing his now-empty cup atop the table. He stands, fighting the urge to collapse onto the floor with the slightest amount of pressure on his foot—maybe it is broken, after all—and crosses the room, only to sit at Castiel’s feet, shoes propped in his lap. “And Sam said I was the stubborn one.”

“I can do this by myself,” Castiel mumbles, but doesn’t make any attempt to follow through.

Rather, he allows Dean to do it for him instead, double knotting the strings like his father always taught him. _One loose shoestring, and it’s your head_ , John would say, and some days, Dean still hears him, remembers that day in El Paso, where John instilled the fear of God into him for the first time. “Sometimes you gotta ask for help,” Dean says and finishes with one shoe, moving on to the other. “Doesn’t make you weak.”

“I didn’t think I was,” Castiel says. He pets through Dean’s hair anyways, and Dean leans into it as much as he can, still concentrated on the task at hand. “Thank you, though. You didn’t have to.”

Dean shrugs him off. “Got tired of seeing you fidget. Got places to be, and all that.”

Lifting a hand, he waits for Castiel to pull him up to his feet, not trusting his legs to hold him. Castiel keeps an arm around his waist and clutches him, closer than necessary, but Sam isn’t here to judge them for the next few days. Dean leans into Castiel’s half-embrace while they move between the beds, an embrace that deepens with the passing seconds. Castiel smells like cheap shampoo where Dean presses his nose into his skin, the ends of his hair still wet from the shower. Longer now. _He should really get a haircut_.

“I don’t wanna go,” Dean admits and closes his eyes, snaking his arms around Castiel’s waist. Softly, Castiel hums in his ear, stroking down his back. “I don’t think I can.”

“You can,” Castiel assures. “She would want you there. She liked you, Dean.”

Sniffling, Dean nods, ever so slightly. “I knew her for so long, man, and she just… She didn’t deserve that.”

 _None of us do_ , he longs to say.

Softly, almost sweetly, Castiel hums into his ear, a tuneless melody that does nothing to ease the ache in Dean’s chest. “You did what you could,” he rumbles, his braced hand mussing up Dean’s hair. “We did. But sometimes, life isn’t fair, and we’re left to pick up the pieces, however they’re scattered.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, a bit watery. Pulling away, he takes Castiel’s wrist in hand and turns it over. “You gotta keep this tight, alright?” he says before undoing the Velcro, only to yank it tighter. Castiel hisses, but doesn’t fight. “I know you don’t like it, but it’s either that or a real cast.”

“I’m not sure which one I’d prefer more,” Castiel complains, much to Dean’s amusement. “Are you done?”

“Not even close,” Dean snorts. As much as he wants to, he resists the urge to pat Castiel’s wrist, if only to save himself from the cold shoulder later. “Come on, let’s just… I hope you brought tissues.”

Castiel offers a smile, then pulls a crumbled mess of Kneelex from his jacket pocket. “Whenever you’re ready.”

-+-

Dean met Leslie in seventh grade biology, more decades ago than he’s willing to admit. All auburn hair and freckles, she sat two seats in front of him and always smelled of Cucumber Melon, and her lips let a cherry-scented mark on his cheek where she kissed him on the last day of school. He and Sam were only in Tallahassee for three weeks, but they gravitated towards each other, almost always attached at the hip from the hours of nine to four, until John dragged him back to the motel and Leslie climbed into her mother’s Datsun.

For the longest time, they kept in contact, maybe a call once every few weeks, then dwindling to biannually. The last time Dean talked to her was three months ago, and Leslie gushed about her son for a solid hour over the phone, how she was so proud he graduated high school, how he was planning to start at Florida State in the fall. Nothing about it seemed out of the ordinary; she never let on just how far she had progressed, and how some days, she could barely stand the pain.

A steady rain falls over Roselawn Cemetery, the pinging off of black umbrellas soothing in a way that it shouldn't be. Slacks tucked into his loafers, Dean stands as far away from the funeral party as he can, lip between his teeth in a valiant effort to not lose control. The clouds hang low; Castiel lingers closer, their shoulders brushing while the pastor delivers the eulogy, looking directly at Leslie’s casket as he does so.

“Cancer, man,” Dean huffs, viciously shoving his free hand into his pant pocket. At his side, Castiel nods along. “She never told me about it.”

“She probably didn’t want you to worry,” Castiel whispers. He nudges Dean’s arm, and Dean works his hand free, allowing Castiel to hold it, lacing their fingers together. Their umbrellas bump; water drips into Dean’s hair between the gaps. “Did she know what you did for a living?”

Dean shakes his head, sniffling. “I told her I moved around once, and she assumed dad was in the Army or something.” He laughs, hollow in his chest. “She got it, though. I didn’t have to explain anything to her, man, she just… got me.”

Slowly, Castiel exhales, mist pouring from between his lips. Leslie’s husband stands up from one of the rows surrounding the casket, pulling a sheet of paper from his pocket. “Did you ever tell Sam?” Castiel asks, squeezing Dean’s hand tighter.

“A few times,” Dean says. He closes his eyes; he can’t bear to watch. “He’s got friends from hunts too. But that’s his business, and I’m not gonna ask.” A breath; Dean rubs the side of Castiel’s hand with his thumb. “Sometimes, it’s hard to not care about people in this business. If we can save a few lives in the end, then that’s what matters most. Not the bruises or the broken bones, it’s the people.” His eyes well. A tear spills free, and he hopes it blends in with the rain dripping from his hair. “Just… She was sick, man. And I couldn’t do anything about it.”

Out of sight of Leslie’s family—at least, Dean hopes—Castiel sneaks a kiss to the side of Dean’s neck, disguising it as a one-armed hug. Their umbrellas collide again, thumping noisily amidst the weather. “I’m sorry,” Castiel says, then rests his head atop Dean’s shoulder. “She wouldn’t want you to dwell on her death, though. Remember her as you last knew her, not where she is today.”

“Yeah,” Dean croaks, then clears his throat. Leslie would want that—she would want him to smile and keep moving, wherever the world took him. “Not really used to this part.”

Castiel hums, long and low, and clutches Dean’s hand tighter, like he never plans to let go. “I don’t think any of us are.”

-+-

The machete drops, thumping and splattering spilt blood into the haystacks; at his feet, Dean steps over the strewn corpses and makes his way to the entrance of the barn, where Castiel stands, equally as dirty, but alive and whole at the end of it, injured wrist and all. “I wanna make a will,” Dean announces, to Castiel’s subsequent furrowed brow. “Whole nine yards, go to the courthouse and everything.”

“You’re legally dead,” Castiel quips, and Dean rolls his eyes. “I hope you’re not planning on actually dying any time soon.”

“No, no.” Wiping his hands on his jeans, Dean glances back over his shoulder, at the vampires strewn about, their heads not too far from where their torsos fell. The guy who broke Castiel’s wrist two days ago half-hangs from the hayloft, missing both hands just to prove a point. “Just started thinking.”

“You’re doing that a lot lately,” Castiel says.

Dean laughs and uneasily steps out into the night, wet earth squelching beneath his boots. The thumbnail of the moon shines bright, starts dotting the endless expanse of the sky. “Humor me a little, Cas. Say I keel over tomorrow, I want you to know what to do with my body.”

Castiel gives him a look, a cross between incredulous and annoyed. “You actually did think about this.”

 _I’ve had it planned for years_ , Dean could admit. Instead, he says, “I bought three plots a few years ago. Sold one of the cars in the motor pool to finance it, but there’s room for me and Sam, and… And you, if you decide to kick the bucket. Now that you can, and all.”

“Dean.” Castiel steps closer, frigid fingers circling Dean’s wrist. “You’re still too young—”

“Death is inevitable, right?” Dean asks, and reluctantly, Castiel nods. “I wanna be prepared. I mean, I am, but whenever it happens, I don’t want anyone to worry. Okay?”

Slowly, Castiel nods. Dean cups his face, thumbs swiping over his cheeks. “I’ll go with you,” Castiel says, and sways closer, until he winds his arms around Dean’s back, and Dean holds him close, feels his heart against his chest. “I’m sure we can find someone who’ll write legal documents for two dead men and what’s left of an angel.”

“That’s the spirit,” Dean says, the slightest bit mirthful. His smile fades, though, and he buries his nose in Castiel’s neck, inhaling the scent of him, his breath settling. “I don’t wanna leave. Not when we’re getting to the good part.”

“I know,” Castiel says. His embrace tightens, and his exhale shakes, in all the ways that make Dean anxious, yet oddly hopeful. “Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> And the second post of the night! This is what I used to submit to the Hell & Back anthology, and I finally remembered that I can post it! (I also have submissions for both Profound Zine entries, but I'll post both of them once the second issue ships.) I really liked the concept of this, so I hope y'all like it too! :D
> 
> Title is from the Enya song.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/loversantiquity).


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